The bullet
by KissOfShadows13
Summary: The gun won't fire quicker or slower based on who it kills. It fires just the same, no matter who is at the other end of the barrel. It's made to kill, just like me. And, just like me, it gets the job done. Christian Grey has been saved a bullet and I'm the weapon to fire it. ONE SHOT


_AN: This story wouldn't leave me be so here it is. I'd love to know what you think of it._

 _Thank you for reading._

* * *

There are many things wrong with this world. I could start naming all of them, one by one, each at a time – and you'd agree with me on almost all of them. I say _almost_ all as I know human kind is a hypocrite on their best days so there will always be something holding them back from acknowledging everything there is to acknowledge but that's none of my concern. I don't care what people think. I don't care how they reason and explain their actions. After all justice is blind and each one will get what they deserve.

 _Right?_

Wrong.

Justice is not blind and it hasn't been ever since humanity has invented this notion. _Justice._ Humanity's way to try and undo the wrong done by punishing the person who did it. But does it punish as it should? Does it give out the sentences it should, befitting the crime? Does it really _undo_ anything? Does it bring people back from the dead, ease suffering or erase memories? No. If it did, I'd allow it the chance to try. I'd allow it the chance to give me hope that it might ever ease or erase all that it should from my memory.

Powerful people will always have better chance of finding the weak link in Justice's armor. Powerful _men_ will always seek to be above the worshiped Justice that everyone else bows down to. True, women are just as prone to tie Justice's hands, if the need and opportunity should ever present itself but those cases are quite rare. It's not because women are necessary gentle creatures that never step out of the drawn lines but because they've just recently discovered the lines they themselves lived within. For this reason, the people getting a taste of Justice's potion are usually men.

Just like me, these men are mostly just weapons in the hands of the truly powerful. However, unlike me, they always took pleasure in the tasks they had been given. They considered themselves demi-gods, sent out to right the world because they were considered _special_ and _worthy_ of such an honor. As you might have guessed, I don't consider myself to have those two _attributes._ A weapon doesn't sit and ponder and comes up with its own version of justice. No, that is not what it does. There is no time to _think._ The gun won't fire quicker or slower based on who it kills. It fires just the same, no matter who is at the other end of the barrel. It's made to kill, just like me. And, just like me, it gets the job done.

* * *

For over 14 years, I've been nothing more than a weapon, meant to kill whoever dared to put my family in danger. I've always listened to my father and never questioned any of his commands. Everything I've ever done was so that my family could live in peace. My actions never needed justification because I've never thought them myself. My father was a harsh but just man, who wanted to keep everyone safe and protected, to keep giving people jobs so they would be able to take care of their families… or so I thought.

My whole life had been a lie.

First of all, my father was never my father. I was actually found on the side of a road as he went to a business meeting in Moscow. Left to die like you leave a dog when it's too weak and you can't bear to shoot it. His wife couldn't bear to leave me to die and so they took me in and I became one of their many children. One of the many future soldiers meant to protect his empire. I was two years old.

My father was a very influential man, with his fingers dipped in many pies: politics, business, drugs, weapons and last, but not least, human trafficking. The latest addition to his list was unknown to me and that was the element which brought my perfect life crashing down on me. While I've never questioned any of the other things my father was involved in, human trafficking always struck a nerve deep within me. He was well aware of this trigger and allowed me the chance to clean the earth of such scum from time to time. I was fourteen when I killed the first _enemy._

I'd always held on to the belief that one's choices were always the reason their destiny ended with my barrel at the back of their necks. The choices they made, either at the beginning of their journey or towards the end of it were to blame for the way their lives ended. I was not a judge but a deliverer of Justice, in its raw form. Which is why, upon seeing me in his office, gun drawn and poised to take aim at my father's head, he only closed his eyes and made the sign of the cross, as though his Christian-Orthodox God would ever think of welcoming him into Heaven. I did not smile. I did not cry. I just breathed in and released the bullet Justice was saving for him with the last breath I'd ever take as his daughter. He chose to sell people as though they were cattle, not living beings looking for a better life to help their loved ones or to help themselves. My father knew such people would die by my hands if they ever crossed paths with me and yet, he decided to do it anyway.

I was a weapon and weapons don't think or judge. They just kill. And kill I did. Everyone else who knew of his involvement or was involved in any way, met the same fate that night. One by one, their sins were purged from this earth. As I stood in front of the last person on my list, his pants soiled and his crazed eyes staring back at me, Justice gave me another task: make sure no one will rise from the dirt to build the empire back. That included all my father's former friends and clients, from various countries and continents. Distance was of no importance.

Being part of a Mob family had honed many of my skills, including hacking. In 72 hours, I had all the information I needed on all the people on my list and a few extra. People didn't really value their privacy, not even the rich. It was very rare that they kept a low profile and put out as little of their private lives as possible. Everyone wanted to be seen, envied and loved, maybe even worshipped. Problem was, I also had eyes to see and made sure their sins would be punished. Because the truth was, those in power rarely got punished for their acts. It's those who do not have the means to grease the right palms who usually end up paying. The petty thieves, the drunken rapists, caught with their pants around their ankles, the killers who don't have the means or foresight to wipe their trace. The rich ones have all the means to make everything go away like a bad dream.

Ever since putting an end to my adoptive father's empire, I had scoured the Earth to make sure all his tentacles had been severed. It was a grueling task but it had fulfilled me in a way I never thought it could. I had always thought of myself as an empty vessel but never wanted to fill it. Being a dumped bastard had a long lasting effect on my mind, no matter how skilled and smart I proved myself to be. Abandonment meant that I never stopped longing to belong, to be a part of something bigger than myself, to have a purpose meant to show me my survival was no accident. I had clung to my former family like one clings to a life jacket and their betrayal shattered everything around me as though it was made of glass.

"Justice always prevails." I whispered low but not low enough for the stewardess next to me not to hear. Her sidelong glance made me look outside the window. I've always loved to fly and it was just destiny's reminder that I was flying with a reason that put a shadow over my happiness. Killing, believe it or not, never brought me any satisfaction. I would have rather seen people who chose not to hurt others in the first place, instead of delivering the punishment for their actions.

Death had saddened me on a level no one would ever reach. I had seen too much of it to ever feel life's gentle touch. I had become so cynical and aloof that I doubted anything would ever reach me. This was my fate and I had wholeheartedly accepted it. With a heavy sigh, I ordered a glass of vodka and watched as the ice melted while my hands warmed it to the desired temperature. I was a pelicular creature and there was no one in my life to try and mold me into anything else than I already was.

My last kills were unknowingly waiting for me in Seattle. Once those would be settled, I would return to the shadows I had always called _home._ After all, darkness is at home within the shadows, not out into the light.

With a heavy sigh, I ordered a glass of vodka and watched as the ice melted while my hands warmed it to the desired temperature. I was a pelicular creature and there was no one in my life to try and mold me into anything else than I already was.

* * *

The United States of America was the cliché I had been expecting. Everything was big and everyone thought they were better than the person next to them. A hunger for money, power, reputation and position was visibly etched upon their faces. East Europeans had kept a humble smile and a kind word to most of the people they encountered, be it family or tourists. Pride and the will to please were present there but America only kept the pride. It seemed as though the will to please and the humble nature had drowned on their way to this continent.

Then again, maybe my cynical nature was just putting a veil over my eyes.

Since leaving the family, I had seen the latest movies and read the latest articles, painting Russia as the mother of all evil while the other countries on this planet suffered. Russians are generally sheltered people and most of them have treated me kindly, despite knowing who I was and what I did for the family.

Upon leaving Russia, it became clear to me that the Western media was nothing more than a pawn in the hands of the powerful. People were deceived with daily articles meant to tell them everything was under control as long as their hate was directed towards the _right_ villain. In the end, people always needed a villain so as not to look around them and realize that evil was everywhere. Truth is, Russia, just like the UK, USA, China, France and many other countries, is fighting for supremacy the best way it knows: through oppression. Is that right? No. But until people wake up and decide to make a change starting from the center of their own being, Russia would never be the only villain. It would just be the most convenient to point at.

I hid my Russian accent and played the part of the stupid tourist while up and about in the US, working my way through the list I had to eliminate. Finding them was easy and so was taking them out. The internet rules the lives of Western people and hacking into their lives while erasing each one of my footsteps was too easy. Their ego was their downfall, just as it was to those before them.

* * *

As I stared into the lifeless eyes of Elena Lincoln, the end of the list was within sight. There was only one person left on my list and that was billionaire extraordinaire Christian Trevelyan-Grey. This young man was even more powerful and resourceful than my father so it came as no surprise to me that no one knew anything of his involvement in the human trafficking industry. If it weren't for his link to Lincoln, I would have probably missed it as well. Upon further digging into their relationship, I found that she had been supplying him with submissives ever since he turned 21 years old. Most of the girls were innocents, forced into this dark side of earth, never to live to tell the tale.

From the information I've collected, my lithe body, long dark brown locks and clear blue eyes were a perfect match for the type of women Grey preferred. He loved to dominate women like me, show them who's in charge of their body, their pleasure and, most importantly, their pain. Many girls had disappeared once Grey tired of them. As far as I could dig-up, he was not personally involved in the disappearances but his close connections with Elena Lincoln made it possible for him to keep his hands clean. She provided him with the girls and also _took care_ of them once he grew tired. All in exchange of a very lucrative business relationship with GEH and also a monthly fee.

I have to admit, I could not resist curiosity's pull and did more digging than was necessary. Finding all there was to know about Christian Grey wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Breaking through the firewalls and rebuilding them as though nothing happened in the first place was like child's play. Installing a Trojan horse right inside their mainframe server was a trickier but I had nothing else but time to waste and that was exactly what I did. I learned everything there was to know about Grey, ever since he was 4 years old. The similarities between him and I made my blood freeze in my veins but in the end, they solidified my belief that the Universe wanted me to tie up this loose end. He made the wrong choice and that would have consequences, just like everything else in life.

As the final week leading up to my last kill was approaching its end, I had a new and special identity in place. Anastasia Rose Steele, English Lit graduate by weekday and an established submissive during the weekend. Having no living family, very few friends, nothing major that would raise any red flags, I was the perfect candidate to be Mr. Grey's next toy. It disgusted me to my core to be in his presence without killing him on sight but I had a role to play if I were to make it out alive.

It became clear early on that Mr. Grey had tight security, wrapped around him like a vine almost 24 hours. The only reprieve he was given was when he conducted business, slept and fucked. Since I had just eliminated Elena Lincoln from his closest circle, he was pushed to get out of his penthouse and go search for his toy in one of the most exclusive BDSM establishments: _Esclava._ The name itself should be a red flag but no one in Seattle batted an eyelash upon finding out of its existence. For most people, it was just an exotic and forbidden word but for the selected few, this is where their thirst for blood was sated.

I studied Christian Grey and came to know his schedule and temper like the back of my hand. All I had to do was wait until his schedule cleared on a Friday evening and knew immediately where he was headed. Dressed like a woman begging to be fucked, in a tight red corset, skin tight leather pants and sky-high heels, I took one last look in the rearview mirror, checking to make sure the mascara and lip gloss were still in place. I avoided putting too much make-up as this was apparently a weak spot of his. Innocence destroyed must be his fantasy but who was I to judge? Each person has at least one skeleton in their closet and it just so happened human trafficking was his.

Greeted at the entrance by two men who don't bother to check my bag, I make my way inside with ease. My crafted identity had not raised any red flags in their system so there was really no point to look in my bag. To them, I was just a woman who wanted to have a good time while in this _club._

"Good evening, Miss Steele. Have a nice evening." One of them said as a fluorescent sign of an eye was stamped on the back of my palm.

"Thank you." I whispered and kept my head down. It was the second time we met and it would probably be the last. Give them a few weeks and my face would be erased from their memory. I would be the ghost I had always been, drifting and ridding the earth of its scum. Make no mistake, I did not live with the impression of being untouchable. It was all bound to bite me in the arse sooner or later, in spite of the training and skill I possessed. For the moment, I settled with ending the circle of suffering my father had built. What came after that would be destiny's choice.

The place was packed with bodies, some of them less clothed than others. As far as my research had gathered, the part of the club which was above ground was legal, a front to everything that was going on _below_. The underground was open only to a selected few, including Grey. I had killed quite a few of the people who usually frequented the underground part of the club but no one was the wiser so far. After all, Americans kill each other with the guns they've purchased legally from the corner store. The death of a few men, with no apparent connections, did not raise any red flags.

My presence drew the attention of a few _clients_ but I kept my eyes downcast and took a seat at the bar. Playing the role of the perfect submissive, I kept as still as possible, like a lamb waiting for slaughter. It went against my basic instincts but I tempered all of that down. It was the last part of my mission and I was committed to seeing it through.

I felt Grey's burning gaze as my lips touched the clear liquid that was in my glass and felt the vibrations of his baritone voice in my ear as the vodka burned down my throat. My skin tingled, whether from his presence or the alcohol, but I pushed the feeling aside.

"Do you want to play?"

His question almost made me smile. I didn't play with my victims but maybe for him, I would have made an exception… though I didn't think we have the same roles in mind. In his head, I was the mouse and he was the cat. In my head, the roles were reversed.

"I'm open to try, _sir._ "

Upon hearing my low and breathy answer, the air made a hissing noise as it filled his lungs through his teeth. It took him less than a second to decide that he wanted my body and my submission for the night.

"Follow me."

I watched as he left the high chair with the grace of a feline and stayed two seconds before lowering the glass on the table and rising from my seat to follow like a good submissive would. He took me through a maze of corridors before descending the stairs into the belly of the beast. My gloved fist tightened and the leather squeaked, a knee-jerk reaction which I could not control but he did not notice or _chose_ not to notice. The man standing guard at the bottom studied me and this alone sealed his fate. Cameras were not allowed in this part of the club so only death would make sure my presence here will never be remembered.

Grey pulled out a key and stopped in front of a non-descript door. Upon entering, he flicked the light on and locked the door behind us with a soft _click._ The room was red, its walls padded to make sure no sound left it. I contemplated the use of the silencer under these conditions but decided to use it in the end. An extra measure of precaution never hurt anyone. I lowered my gaze and made sure to avoid eye contact as I allowed him to circle me. The music filled the room with slutry lyrics and I could almost feel Grey vibrate with excitement. Me too, though for different reasons.

"Strip and drop in position." He said and turned around to check whatever toys were at his disposal for the night.

My bag hit the floor with enough force to make noise and give the impression I was following his order. I dropped to one knee and retrieved the gun that was hidden in a secret compartment, taking my time to screw the silencer on and step in position a few meters behind him. Upon hearing the click of the safety, his body froze.

Grey was afraid of guns, that much I knew. It probably stemmed from his early childhood and he always made a point to keep firearms as far away from him as possible.

"You may look at me." I said in my usual voice, dropping the low and breathy texture I had given it since stepping foot in the shit hole. No need for further pretenses with this man, no more use for my cover inside these four red walls. Just as he dropped all pretenses, I followed his lead.

Grey dropped to the floor whatever it was that he was holding and turned around with his hands up in the air, palms facing me. His eyes told me that he suspected there would only be one person to leave this room alive and it wouldn't be him. _Clever man._

"On your knees, Mr. Grey."

"Look, I have no idea why you are doing this but whatever it is, you do not have to get blood on your hands for someone else. We can talk this through. I can help you."

Silence settled over us for a few moments as my eyes took in each inch of his skin. His body was on edge, on high alert in case I made any mistake that would help him escape the clutches of Death.

"Will you help me the same way you've helped the submissives that Elena Lincoln has provided you over the years?"

I could see the wheels turning in his head but he had a good poker face on and nothing too important slipped through his creaks.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"They are dead. Did you know that, Mr. Grey?" I asked and cocked my head to the side, studying his features and committing them to memory. I remembered each of my kills with vivid images and he too would join that list shortly. His hair was a mess of copper strands, his eyes – an odd shade of gray I had never seen before. The rest of him was just as appealing. A beautiful wrapping for something so sinister underneath. There was a saying, something in the lines of "face of an angel, soul of a demon". My belief in God had long died but the phrase was quite fitting for him.

Grey paled before my eyes.

"What? Who is dead?" His voice broke and gulped in a big mouthful of air. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Please, let's talk about this. I have no idea who died."

My silence unnerved him. As I looked at him and thought about an escape plan once I delivered his sentence, his agitation grew. Staring Death in the face usually had this effect on people. Very few accept their fate and brace for it. Most just skip to the bargaining part, as though anything that escapes the mouth of liars would ever be taken as truth for their defense.

Taking my silence as a sign to continue, his rambling escalated.

"Please, put the gun down. I'm sure there is a way to end this without any blood on your hands. Once you pull that trigger, you can't undo it. I can make sure –"

"Quiet!" I hissed and widened my stance to make sure I hit just the right spot. "I am not here to judge, Mr. Grey. I just deliver the sentence."

"Who are you? Why are you doing this? What sentence? I have no idea what I've done wrong!"

His words made me pause. All those before him begged for their lives and always promised they would never do it again. He was the first to ask for an explanation, as though he had no idea of his actions. The honesty and fear in his eyes made me rethink my entire plan and reason for being here. Grey is the last link to my past and it seemed it was the hardest link to sever.

"Justice always prevails." I whispered for the last and released the last bullet I had to fire.


End file.
